


Clarity

by NancyBrown



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Comment Fic, F/F, Masturbation, Other, POV Second Person, Sex Toys, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-04
Updated: 2010-07-04
Packaged: 2017-10-10 09:38:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/98237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NancyBrown/pseuds/NancyBrown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Johnson keeps watch.  Post-CoE.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clarity

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: second-person POV, toys, stalking  
> Touchyerwood prompt: Alice/Johnson, anything

You're not sure how you got here. Oh, there's the obvious: espionage, murder, kidnapping, and standing idly by while a child was obliterated for the sake of all other children. That's easy to understand, if not to live with.

You're not certain how that led you here, not really. You know that when you brought her in, you saw a light in her eyes you'd never seen before in anyone else's. You remember the taste of the air between you as she told you what needed to be done, as she spoke the words that would lead to her son's death. You can still smell the stink in the air in that room, how it seeped into everything and everyone, filling them all with atoms of their own souls' destruction as she wept and screamed. It swathed her hair when you held her, because someone had to hold her, it was required on such an awful day for someone to hold her. Under the stench of death, you smelled her hair and the perfume she wore beneath the cloak of Steven's death hit you like a hammer to the jaw.

The funny thing, the thing that makes you laugh when you're alone, and then it's not a funny laugh at all, is that you know they all think you're a lesbian. They see the clothes, hear the severity in your voice, and not one man under your command thinks anything but that you'd fuck the same dim-eyed bimbos they stroke themselves fantasising about, when they're not thinking about humping one other. But you're not, you haven't. Your tastes have always run to the younger, more delicate men you've learned to pick up around the college pubs. Take them while they're trainable, possess them for a while knowing you're in charge, drop them when they get clingy. You've had enough of men running your life, and you're not interested in any would-be he-man to sweep you off your feet, overpower you with lust, dominate you. Never again. No hero types and no women.

It comes as a surprise to you, then, to find yourself here. You watch her through the windows, you track her movements, you cannot ask her how she is doing because there are no words for the enormity of what has happened, of what your own actions enabled. You have a key to her house, access for when she isn't home, and you know she would kill you if she knew. You climb her stairs, avoid the closed door to the bedroom you know was his, walk into hers.

Alice's pillow always smells of tears and sweat and the unmistakable scent of her. One of these days, you're going to shatter your own last shred of self-control and steal the duvet cover, steal the pillowcases, steal pieces of her and take them home with you to hold against you while you sleep. Perhaps today. The smells are overpowering: her grief made potent and real, and … You flip over the duvet, find her sheets, and they are stale and unchanged and smell fully of sex, of her.

You jerk back, sanity reasserting itself briefly, and then falling again. This is madness, to stand her in the bedroom of a woman you barely know, someone who has every cause to hate you, and not be able to resist placing your face against the depression in the bed where her body has been and breathe deep into the dark blue sheets.

God, your fingers are inside your pants so fast, circling and rubbing hard. Your head goes back, watches her ceiling, the pale eggshell colour of it filling your eyes from the darkness of her bedding. So good, so close, and all you can do is think of her eyes, that firm tilt of her mouth.

A moan passes your lips, and you stop suddenly. You've been silent up to now, and fear trickles through you. She could catch you, and there are no explanations you can ever give for why you're here. You barely kept your job after the disaster of the 456, and you will not hold onto it if you are found out now. Your fingers creep back under your waistband anyway. As you turn your eyes to the door of her bedroom, something catches your attention.

Alice's sheets hold other surprises. Pulling them further away, releasing, oh God, more scent into the closed room, you find it. Long, smooth, bulged in gentle ridges, made of silicone.  
The sigh you make is edged with another moan as you bring the toy to your face. You stick just the tip of your tongue through your lips and taste the soft residue left from the last time she pleasured herself. Alice tastes as good as she smells.

You close your eyes.

You need to stop. You can still put everything back, remake the rumpled ruin of her bed, walk out as you have five times before. Already you've been here longer, seen and done more, than you thought you would or could or dared.

And now the dildo is in your mouth, sliding in and out as your spit covers it, washes the traces of Alice away, as you suckle her distantly, and you're not leaving.

Your trousers come loose with a tug, and you slide one hand up your shirt, under your bra, tweak an aching nipple and then its mate. The hand slides down to pull down your trousers, and the cotton panties, so practical when you put them on this morning. Your fingers are covered with your own slick, made more generous just by the thought of what you're doing. You get to your knees beside her bed, as if praying, though if this is for your soul or just for an orgasm, no one can say.

It's cold, sliding into you, and you bite your lip to keep from gasping. In and out, and oh this is exactly what you needed, what you wanted. Your face dips to her sheets again, that smell of woman, of sensual rebirth after everything. She hates you and you don't think you can live without her.

Your fingers work your clit, rub your urethra, tracing both with long-practised ease as your other hand pumps in and out. Colour is high in your cheeks, you breathe in gasps, and Alice is everywhere in this room. You picture her finding you here, horrified. You picture her lying here in her bed, thrusting against the dildo in her own hand, moaning, yes, moaning your name because this is your fantasy and you can. You push it in hard, and you pinch your clit, and you picture Alice beneath you, her face against your dark curls and her tongue loving you, and you hitch and fold inside and come. You keep thrusting, keep rubbing, and you hold that image, of Alice licking you and you let out a sharp moan as you crest a second time.

God.

Your knees ache from the position, and you lower yourself to the rug. The dildo comes out of you with a sticky sound, and now it is covered with your pleasure instead. Shaking, you pull up your panties and redo your trousers, and with a fierce hot blush on your face, you rinse the dildo off with hot water from the sink in the ensuite. You use her towel, another item in this place covered with the smell of her, to dry it and you place it back as best you remember, along with the sheets and the duvet.

The tingle is still there. You know if you slide your fingers against yourself one more time, you could get off again within a minute. You really want to get off again, and you know you can't stay.

She's probably going to miss the pillow, and you're not going to be able to come back here again if she does. You take it anyway.

Your van is parked half a street away, and you're inside it just in time for her to round the corner in her own car. You watch as she gets out, as her eyes take in the house and the street in a way that suggests she will be moving soon, and you can't blame her. After she goes inside, you bring the pillow to your face, and it turns out you can get yourself off again in under thirty seconds.

You wonder how long it will take you to get a key to Alice's new house.


End file.
